


Control

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Domme Natasha, F/M, Face Slapping, HYDRA Trash Party, Hopeful Ending, Injury, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Obedience, Panic Attacks, Sub Bucky Barnes, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: “Cap needs backup,” Bucky says, trying to shrug Natasha off."Yeah, I'm sure he'll really appreciate it when you bleed out on the floor."  Bucky gives her a look, to which Natasha just raises her eyebrows. "I'll hold you down if I have to."It's unfortunate that Bucky is still looking at Natasha when she says that, because it means she undoubtedly sees every microexpression he makes on his journey fromyes,tocan’t want that,topretend it never happened.That's the trouble with spies.  Can't hide a damn thing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the HYDRA Holiday Trash Party gift exchange! I've been a huge fan of HTP for years but never written for it before, so this was a lot of fun. Thank you Aquariusgarbag for such an interesting prompt, and I hope you enjoy!

The Avengers are much better than Hydra. They don't freeze Bucky or wipe him, which is a big improvement. He can remember what happened yesterday, and the day before, and the week before, and the month before. It's odd but nice, and much less painful. It seems more efficient too, since he doesn't need a full briefing before every mission. 

The only trouble is that the Avengers don't make him obey.

Bucky's tested it. Once when Wilson said he was making pancakes for dinner, Bucky stated that he would not eat pancakes. Wilson made omelettes. It was disconcerting.

When planning for a mission a couple weeks later he suggested a change to Romanov's plan which was clearly suboptimal. Romanov paused to ask why he thought it was a better approach. Bucky didn't know what to make of that.

At first it terrifies him - if they won't make him obey then he has to be right about everything, all the time, and he doesn't know if he can do that. Worse, everyone seems to get uncomfortable if he doesn’t have enough opinions. Wilson even takes him aside to explain things like “self determination” and “free will.” Of course Bucky knows what that is, he just didn’t realize they were expected to apply to him.

It takes a while to figure out that it can be nice. If he has a better strategy, they listen. Hell, it's nice just to have preferences. He gets used to it and tries to ignore the unease still sitting in his chest. He has to be so much more careful, and it’s exhausting.

* * *

The mission is not progressing smoothly. The intel was bad and an alarm got tripped, which turned what should have been a simple retrieval into a pitched battle. Wilson is pinned down, the package is out of reach, and the bullet embedded in Bucky’s bad shoulder isn’t helping.

“Will you stop squirming? I know you’ve had worse.”

“Cap needs backup,” he says, trying to shrug Natasha off.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll really appreciate it when you bleed out on the floor." Bucky gives her a look, to which Natasha just raises her eyebrows. "I'll hold you down if I have to."

It's unfortunate that Bucky is still looking at Natasha when she says that, because it means she undoubtedly sees every microexpression he makes on his journey from _yes,_ to _can’t want that,_ to _pretend it never happened._ That's the trouble with spies. Can't hide a damn thing.

He stays still while Natasha patches him up and when the next hail of bullets comes he’s grateful, because it means there’s no time to dwell on that moment.

* * *

Bucky can’t quite relax around Natasha after that. He tries to forget about it, he really does. She was joking. Sarcasm. Whatever. Even if she wasn’t, there’s no way he could tell her what he wants.

Right?

Fuck, he does want it though. The moment of stillness that came over him when Natasha promised to make him is something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He needs to feel it again.

He can’t ask for it. It’s clear that everyone expects him to make his own decisions, and if he tries not to they just give him even more decisions to make. They think indecision indicates some sort of problem. Maybe they’re right. All he can do is try to distract himself from the longing.

That doesn’t work for very long, of course. Natasha notices because she reads everybody like a book, even Bucky. That’s how he learns, after he fails to evade her questions, that Natasha might just be willing to make him obey. It’s more than he ever could have hoped for.

Convincing Natasha to give him orders isn’t easy. She seems very concerned about whether he knows what he’s getting into, and about making sure that whatever they do is “enjoyable” and “safe” for both of them. She insists they only doing it for an evening at a time. She also refuses to do anything with him until he tells her what his limits are, which at first is difficult to work around. If he told her a limit he’d want her to go past it. He wants her to find the things he truly doesn’t want to do and make him do them anyway. Somehow he thinks telling her what those things are would be counterproductive to that goal, so eventually he just makes up some things he doesn’t mind not doing, and Natasha finally seems satisfied. She also gives him a safeword he’s supposed to say if he wants her to stop, but it doesn’t occur to him that he’d use it.

* * *

Bucky arrives at Natasha’s apartment at the agreed upon time, not really knowing what to expect. He still doesn’t quite get why it’s only okay for Natasha to give him orders at a prearranged time, but he isn’t going to question it when he’s so close to getting what he needs. He glances around her living room, not sure how this is supposed to start.

She seems to interpret his uncertainty as embarrassment. “I’ve been in the game a long time, Barnes,” she says. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone use kinky sex to take the edge off.”

Bucky glances away and decides not to point out that sex isn’t the point. It isn’t even really required, but if that’s what it takes to make the situation seem normal to her then he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter what Natasha makes him do, so long as he doesn’t have a choice.

“I guess it’s more common in the twenty first century,” he says instead.

Natasha just hums. “Ready?”

“Yes,” he says, and he means it.

Natasha seems to consider for a moment more, and then she straightens up. “Then get on your knees.”

Bucky does. He sinks down, and as he does the tension in his chest eases. He doesn’t even care what Natasha does with him now or how the rest of the night goes, because as long as he obeys it doesn’t matter. Finally, he’s not in control.

“You will address me as ‘ma’am.’ You’ll obey exactly and without hesitation, and I will correct you if you don’t. You will thank me for all corrections. You will not interfere with anything I do to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." He keeps his gaze cast down, his voice quiet and unthreatening. He wants this. He needs it.

“Take off your shirt.” Natasha suddenly sounds bored, as though he’s beneath her notice, and it makes something in his stomach tingle. “And your shoes.”

Bucky moves quickly and efficiently to remove his boots and pull his shirt over his head, but when he holds it up to fold it Natasha steps up to him and grabs him by the hair.

“Drop it.”

Bucky does, startled, and his shirt crumples to the ground.

“I didn’t say to fold it. Don’t do anything you’re not told.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky gasps, “sorry, ma’am.”

“And?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Good.” Romanov releases her grip and takes a step back, running her eyes over his newly bare chest. Bucky shivers, surprised at how exposed he feels. He’s only missing his shirt, but it’s as though a layer of armor has been stripped away.

He holds his position, even when Romanov reaches out and pinches a nipple. She rolls it between her thumb and index finger and then tugs, a small but unmistakable smirk spreading over her lips when Bucky’s breath catches.

He isn’t used to being touched like this. It’s a different kind of obedience, but he’s grateful for it all the same. He can neither grant nor deny permission, and it feels right.

He hopes she keeps going. He hopes she grabs his hair again.

Romanov fondles his chest for a few more moments, and then she turns to settle on a couch across the room. Bucky watches her passively, waiting. She crooks her fingers at him and says, “Crawl.”

Bucky’s pants have somehow started to grow uncomfortably tight around his groin. He feels Romanov’s eyes on him as he crosses the room on his hands and knees. He knows what this signifies, and despite his body’s growing interest he isn’t sure that he likes it. The peace he was beginning to feel starts to ebb.

Romanov parts her legs and Bucky settles between them, suddenly intensely aware of how close he is to her skin. Her hand is in his hair again, but for now she just strokes her fingers through it idly.

“Good boy. Now help me out of these pants.”

Bucky moves as though in a dream. It’s as though the past year is melting away, all the work he’s done to remake himself after Hydra is dissolving, and he suddenly isn’t sure he wants it to. The obedience feels good, it does, but the thought creeps into his mind that it won’t be so simple. It doesn’t make sense, they’ve barely done anything yet. 

He’s wanted this for so long, he tried so hard to get it. He can’t stop. He carefully undoes her belt, helps slide the waistband past her hips, and in moments her legs are bare.

“Kiss me, kiss my thigh,” she says, and her voice has gotten breathy.

Bucky hesitates. He isn’t sure why, but he supposes he wants to know that she’ll make him do it. That’s what he wanted, to be forced.

The grip in his hair becomes painful, and Romanov’s palm cracks across his face before he notices her moving.

The sting in his cheek echoes, reverberating with forgotten pain. He’s been struck like that before.

“Do it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he hears himself say. He’s having trouble breathing. He doesn’t resist the pull on his hair, and softly presses his lips to her thigh. The feeling of helplessness is so familiar that it hurts.

Romanov prompts him to move higher and he does, working up her thigh until he’s kissing her mound through her thin panties. Every order she gives cuts into forgotten scars, and he can’t identify the emotion making his heart beat so fast so he doesn’t try. Some part of his mind strains to point out that Natasha is only doing this because he asked her to, but he can’t seem to hold onto the thought.

Before long he’s tasting her. His tongue parts her folds and he suckles on her clit while her thighs tense under his hands, quivering with the pleasure she’s taking from him. His jaw starts to ache, but he doesn’t dare stop. Long, slow strokes alternate with quick flicks of his tongue, working her up to the edge and then following the hand in his hair to pull back and kiss her labia before pressing his tongue deep inside her wetness.

The heat and arousal in his own body feels at odds with how empty he is inside, and it occurs to him that in other circumstances he might enjoy this. As it is he just concentrates on his task, trying hard to do it well.

Occasionally he earns another slap, and each time it gets a little harder to remember why he thought this would solve anything. Had it always hurt this much?

When Romanov finally tenses and moans all he feels is relief.

* * *

Bucky takes a long time to come back to himself. Natasha cleans herself up and then cleans him up, being oddly gentle with him. He can’t relax until he eventually remembers she’s not going to strike him anymore. When Natasha looks at him she frowns, and Bucky has the sinking feeling that she’s worried about him.

“Get what you wanted?” she asks, and there’s a note of doubt in her voice.

He doesn’t know what he wanted anymore, but he got what he needed, didn’t he? “Yeah.” He should probably go. He turns to find his shoes.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s careful not to look at her, because she’ll know he’s lying if he does.

He makes it all the way to the door before she says, “Why didn’t you safeword?” Her voice is tight.

Bucky pauses, hand on the doorknob, and he doesn’t know what to say. There are a dozen reasons, and no reason at all. It occurs to him then that while all the rules and agreements didn’t matter much to him, they mattered quite a bit to Natasha. He used her without even meaning to.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t have the words to explain.

Natasha doesn’t respond at first, and when she does her voice suddenly soft. Distant. “I know what it’s like.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, and for a moment the room is silent. “To miss being used.”

Bucky does look at her then, hardly believing she’s put words to all that longing and pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says again, voice rough.

“You wanna stay for a while? I’ll make food.”

Bucky nods slowly, suddenly finding that he wants that very much. “I’d like that.”

He’s caught off guard by the relief blooming in his stomach. He still doesn’t fully understand what he needs, but maybe it isn’t orders. Maybe Natasha can help him find it after all.


End file.
